Classification: other
by CaffieneKitty
Summary: Sam and Dean on a Sharktopus hunt, sometime in Season 2. Crossover with the SyFy Original Movie "Sharktopus". GEN.


**Crossover (sort of):** Supernatural/Sharktopus  
**Rating/Warnings:** Gen, PG-13, light gore, mild lewd references (because Dean) and crack (because Sharktopus).  
**Disclaimer:** So very not mine.  
**Dedication:** For **samalander_dawn**, and she knows why. ;-)  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean on a Sharktopus hunt, sometime in Season 2.  
**A/N:**I'm quite rusty, so I've got the training wheels on for this one. The only thing you need to know about the movie Sharktopus to read this story is that there's a Sharktopus in it. Do not expect this story to fit anywhere into Sharktopus continuity. Now if you'll excuse me for a second, I need to go laugh really hard at the concept of Sharktopus continuity.

-.-  
**Classification - other**  
_by Caffienekitty_  
-.-

"This is absolutely not our kind of gig, Sam!" Dean's shoes squished as he crossed the construction office to sling their spent weapons on a clear patch of office desk. "There better be something useful in this place. Those spearguns are about as effective as throwing ping pong balls at it."

"How is this not our kind of gig?" Sam re-locked and barricaded the door, rubbing wet hair and a thin trickle of blood out of his eyes. "It's a monster, it's ravaging a seaside resort-"

"In which we have seen zero, I repeat, zero bikini-clad babes, Sam. That can't be natural."

"Probably all in-shore, away from the Sharkto-"

"Don't call it that," Dean snapped.

"Why not? That's what they're calling it on the radio."

"Because it's ridiculous, that's why not. Seriously, Sam, some government lab whackjobs scramble up a DNA omelette and let the results escape or whatever, how is that our problem? The government did it, they can call out the Marines or the National Guard, clean up their own damn mess."

"Don't make me quote Dad at you, Dean."

"Sam," Dean said warningly.

"'Saving people, hunting-'"

"Fine!" Dean threw his hands in the air in surrender, and turned to rummage through the desk.

"Might not be our usual type of monster, but you can't deny, the Sharktopus totally qualifies as a 'thing'." Sam shoved a tool chest aside to reveal a locked metal cabinet at the back of the office. "Aha!"

"Doesn't make the name less stupid," Dean muttered, rummaging through the tool chest.

"Hey, it's an accurate name. Half-shark, half-octopus." Sam bent low to examine the lock on the secure cabinet and pulled out his lockpicks.

"Whose stupid idea was it to put tentacles and teeth together like that anyway? And who even makes something with tentacles that can _stab?_Is there an evil overlord's lair somewhere with a big empty hero-dangling tank waiting for this damn thing to be shipped?"

Sam snorted.

"Just saying, I prefer my tentacles non-stabby. And animated."

"What?"

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing. Nothing in these tools either, I was hoping a nail gun or something. What about you? Find anything good?"

"I'll know in another... second... there!" The lock disengaged and Sam opened the door with a flourish, pulling out a small crate marked 'TOVEX - Seismogel'.

"Explosives! Awesome!"

"Mix with spear guns and..."

Dean grinned. "You never said anything about getting to blow it up."

Sam grinned back. "Our kind of gig now?"

Dean grabbed a crowbar and approached the case of water-gel explosives like it was twenty-five years of missed Christmas presents. "Ask me later, Sam. Right now we've got a monster to turn into a chunky red spray."

-.-

Later, after the very satisfying explosions (and Sam pointing out that the scientists might have included starfish DNA in the mix and that each individual chunk might now become a tiny new Sharktopus which gave Dean the entirely unnecessary excuse to set it all on fire), Sam and Dean sat on the beach near a giant blazing pile of rubbery Sharktopus bits. The pile roared and hissed and sent a towering cloud of black tarry smoke into the clear blue sky over the deserted resort. The whole area smelled like a cross between a tire fire and a cajun clambake gone horribly wrong.

"You've got a- here." Sam picked a Sharktopus chunk out of Dean's hair and flicked it toward the fire. Before it even landed, the greasy nugget burst into flames from the heat.

Dean snickered around the third beer he'd liberated from the deserted resort's beach bar. "Burns damn fine for a monster made of fishy things."

Sam nodded and sipped his half-empty first beer. "So, Dean, it's later now, whaddaya say? Was this our kind of gig?"

"Yeah," said Dean with a goofy grin, watching the Sharktopus burn. "This was definitely our kind of gig."

-.-.-  
(that's all, and I advise against any drinking games based around the use of the word "Sharktopus" in this post, you'd be in a coma before you got through the header)


End file.
